You dream of Dada, Mama?
Yes, I do sometimes Pumpkin.
What he doos in your dream, Mama?
Oh. Sometimes we are in a car together, going somewhere. Sometimes we are taking you to school. He is smiling.
The fantasy begins. Or rather, my fantasy does. Can dreams count as memories? Might those images be ones she can envision and hold on to?
Do her dreams qualify as her own freshly minted memories?
I like to think so.
She spends a lot of time "imaginatin'", as she says.
I want dada to see my big girl bed.
I know you do, Pumpkin. But I think he can see us from all around. So maybe he does!
He is restin' in your heart?
Yes he is. That's a nice thing to say, Lily.
I want him to come back.
Ohhh... That would be nice. I would like that too.
And then, my tears appear. Lily has never seen me cry. And she laughs as she is used to seeing me "pretend cry" when I am dramatically reading her bedtime stories.
(Flourish is important.)
But this time they are real, and I just couldn't keep them within.
I was tired, under the weather, and wishing things were different.
I know there's nothing wrong with a child seeing a parent cry.
But this time I had to explain to her that I was crying because I wished he could come back too. And it ached. I ached.
For me, but mostly for Lily. She deserves to have a father, and she's been so accepting until now of not having one.
If there's one thing I can't stand, it's people advising me "not to make my issues hers". Because I don't.
Ever.
But people don't seem to understand that one can miss something they've never known.
And this weekend, I saw a lot of that void in Lily's beautiful presence. She doesn't complain, whine or get weepy.
But she is noticing with greater awareness that she is indeed missing out on...
Someone.
She makes up stories about him. Wants to be loved by him.
Wants to know if he knew her.
He did, Pumpkin. He saw pictures when you were teeny tiny inside of me and he was soooooo happy to see you there and to know that you'd be coming.
When I have a baby I don't want it to be inside of me.
OK pumpkin, that's fine.
Deep breath.
Lots of dada questions this weekend.
She also asked, from astride her rocking horse, when a friends dad would die.
Hopefully not for a very long time, Lily.
Most people live until they are very very old.
And then, thankfully, on to The Beatles - a new musical favorite of hers.
A breakthrough in our home.
What's dat song mean, Mama? She asks in reference to "Let It Be".
Wow.
Note to self - write book interpreting monumental songs for toddlers.
It's about just letting things... be.
Well done Sus....
Just... leaving things alone, allowing things to be as they are.
Sigh.
Wise words, easier said than done.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Apple.
Lily got married today.
Just like that.
Not even three and I had thought we'd have years together before she flew the coop.
But, no.
I came into the living room this morning where she was playing with her Granny and there she was, donning a much loved turquoise knit summer shrug with sequin border, over her dark wintry outfit and packing up her stroller.
What are you doing Pumpkin?
Gettin' married.
You are?! To whom?
James.
Oh. Congratulations! I really like James, I think he's a nice boy.
Yeah. She says.
Ah me.
James is nice. He is invisible but very present. Just this weekend she was droppin' him off at ballet class and pickin' him up. (Lily has no use for Gs) The other night before storytime I found her sitting on my bed in the dark.
Why is the light off Pumpkin?
James isn't listenin, so I turned it off.
In our building elevators she always presses 10 for him. She is fast, and I am left sheepishly making "surprise" apologies for her to other riders, as though I had no idea that ten would be pushed.
His birthday is nearly every day.
And he has a little sister/boy friend named Jayna.
And sometimes another baby sister named "Stell".
And a mom who is in meetins' a lot.
And sometimes a dad but he works a lot too.
I like to indulge her imagination.
It is a trip for me as well.
A nice one.
She is busy in mind, body and soul.
Alan and I had invisible friends too.
But I will leave it at that.
No need for further grown-up embarrassment.
That's right Sus, Alan echoes from... around.
He's probably bothered that I outed him at all.
But she is a creative spirit.
Clearly the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree.
Just like that.
Not even three and I had thought we'd have years together before she flew the coop.
But, no.
I came into the living room this morning where she was playing with her Granny and there she was, donning a much loved turquoise knit summer shrug with sequin border, over her dark wintry outfit and packing up her stroller.
What are you doing Pumpkin?
Gettin' married.
You are?! To whom?
James.
Oh. Congratulations! I really like James, I think he's a nice boy.
Yeah. She says.
Ah me.
James is nice. He is invisible but very present. Just this weekend she was droppin' him off at ballet class and pickin' him up. (Lily has no use for Gs) The other night before storytime I found her sitting on my bed in the dark.
Why is the light off Pumpkin?
James isn't listenin, so I turned it off.
In our building elevators she always presses 10 for him. She is fast, and I am left sheepishly making "surprise" apologies for her to other riders, as though I had no idea that ten would be pushed.
His birthday is nearly every day.
And he has a little sister/boy friend named Jayna.
And sometimes another baby sister named "Stell".
And a mom who is in meetins' a lot.
And sometimes a dad but he works a lot too.
I like to indulge her imagination.
It is a trip for me as well.
A nice one.
She is busy in mind, body and soul.
Alan and I had invisible friends too.
But I will leave it at that.
No need for further grown-up embarrassment.
That's right Sus, Alan echoes from... around.
He's probably bothered that I outed him at all.
But she is a creative spirit.
Clearly the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Days Like This.
There are moments.
Not fun ones.
When I am caught in a memory, or stuck in the present, all alone.
Lily had a sleepover at her Granny's this weekend, and though it allowed me a much needed respite and cherished down time, there are moments when her temporary absence has a reverse effect.
Such as Sunday.
When I woke up to utter silence.
No chatter from her crib, no soft landing & pitter patter to my bed followed by a light kiss on my cheek. No "Mama, is it a school day, Turleta day, Granny day or Mommy day?"
Just quiet.
And this weekend it hurt. And scared me.
Haunted by the fearful thought to self - how would I be if I didn't have her.
My Lily.
The answer is not one I like to ponder.
When Alan passed away - I had a desperate need to hold on to whatever was inside. Lily was barely the size of a gummy bear and I was ever fearful she wouldn't make it.
How could something so delicate ever endure such emotional pain.
I was terrified that my anguish would be the end to my nightmare/dream.
But she held fast, my resilient, determined,butterfly.
And when she did arrive, it was as though it could never have been any other way.
She was healthy. Beautiful. She had made it.
Here.
Much to be grateful for, I remind myself constantly.
But on Sunday I gave myself a scare, wondering how well I was really doing. My loneliness is immeasurable - and cannot be alleviated by even the most wondrous child. And it shouldn't have to be.
May she never feel weighted by such a void.
I took myself out to breakfast, the air too searingly cold for tears, and choked down breakfast I hoped might keep the sobs at bay.
Me and my book at the bar.
Good times.
And then home I went, crawled into bed, and slowly recovered from the morning's darkness.
Lily came back to me and clung fiercely as I lifted her out of the car-seat.
I knew that soon she'd be crying for her Granny & BebeO - transitions are challenging - but it felt so good to feel us each holding on so tightly.
Within the hour she was singing, dancing and told me,
"I am happy Mama, because you gave me blackberries".
I was happy too.
Because Alan gave us each other.
Not fun ones.
When I am caught in a memory, or stuck in the present, all alone.
Lily had a sleepover at her Granny's this weekend, and though it allowed me a much needed respite and cherished down time, there are moments when her temporary absence has a reverse effect.
Such as Sunday.
When I woke up to utter silence.
No chatter from her crib, no soft landing & pitter patter to my bed followed by a light kiss on my cheek. No "Mama, is it a school day, Turleta day, Granny day or Mommy day?"
Just quiet.
And this weekend it hurt. And scared me.
Haunted by the fearful thought to self - how would I be if I didn't have her.
My Lily.
The answer is not one I like to ponder.
When Alan passed away - I had a desperate need to hold on to whatever was inside. Lily was barely the size of a gummy bear and I was ever fearful she wouldn't make it.
How could something so delicate ever endure such emotional pain.
I was terrified that my anguish would be the end to my nightmare/dream.
But she held fast, my resilient, determined,butterfly.
And when she did arrive, it was as though it could never have been any other way.
She was healthy. Beautiful. She had made it.
Here.
Much to be grateful for, I remind myself constantly.
But on Sunday I gave myself a scare, wondering how well I was really doing. My loneliness is immeasurable - and cannot be alleviated by even the most wondrous child. And it shouldn't have to be.
May she never feel weighted by such a void.
I took myself out to breakfast, the air too searingly cold for tears, and choked down breakfast I hoped might keep the sobs at bay.
Me and my book at the bar.
Good times.
And then home I went, crawled into bed, and slowly recovered from the morning's darkness.
Lily came back to me and clung fiercely as I lifted her out of the car-seat.
I knew that soon she'd be crying for her Granny & BebeO - transitions are challenging - but it felt so good to feel us each holding on so tightly.
Within the hour she was singing, dancing and told me,
"I am happy Mama, because you gave me blackberries".
I was happy too.
Because Alan gave us each other.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Thank You Patti. (And my everloving flower)
Our year was a good one.
Loaded, but hearty with happy firsts and challenging as the two of us guided one another - teaching ourselves what it is to be parent and child, mother and daughter, friends. I never guessed that a child less than three could be so powerful a force, so sharp yet naive - so energetic - so imaginative - so beautifully self-guided with her movements - and could nearly break me with exhaustion, bring me close to tears with despair and resurrect me with kisses on my brow.
Yes on my brow.
Perhaps she learned it from me.
I wonder often as I marvel at her evolution - which parts are Alan, which parts are Susan and which parts are pure Lily.
As one of my oldest friends reminded me on New Years Eve Day,
she is not a passive child.
And I was comforted by those words. What a gift those words were, Sensei Alexis, ever wise and wonderful friend. My tendency is to blame my skills at motherhood rather than acknowledge that I am growing a little being, and she is who she is. I will steer, but she - already - is making her own roads.
Her brain sparks differently - she said, and it is true.
Some don't get that, she said.
Fellow moms are the ultimate comfort ~ and the ones who are ahead of me, golden.
After our conversation I found myself gifted with an evening to myself. So I rolled off the bed, lethargic, feeling a bit broken but hungry for a lift, took a bath.
A bath.
And then I took myself to see Patti Smith.
A fine last move for 2011.
Her chords enveloped me, her words, her presence - nice to end the year with the encouragement of another strong, most remarkable woman.
She was uplifting.
Invigorating.
Guiding.
Loud, soft, modest, endearing, funny, evocative, electric.
Expressive hands, graceful and masculine.
Another friend cheered me via text "BOLD!!".
So grateful for my friends.
I do have courage - though every now and then it idles.
But the choice to go was easy.
And then Patti was my beautiful reward.
Bold times two.
Bold for two.
And ready for our next chapter.
Excited for a new year.
Grateful to be alive.
And to feel that way as well.
Loaded, but hearty with happy firsts and challenging as the two of us guided one another - teaching ourselves what it is to be parent and child, mother and daughter, friends. I never guessed that a child less than three could be so powerful a force, so sharp yet naive - so energetic - so imaginative - so beautifully self-guided with her movements - and could nearly break me with exhaustion, bring me close to tears with despair and resurrect me with kisses on my brow.
Yes on my brow.
Perhaps she learned it from me.
I wonder often as I marvel at her evolution - which parts are Alan, which parts are Susan and which parts are pure Lily.
As one of my oldest friends reminded me on New Years Eve Day,
she is not a passive child.
And I was comforted by those words. What a gift those words were, Sensei Alexis, ever wise and wonderful friend. My tendency is to blame my skills at motherhood rather than acknowledge that I am growing a little being, and she is who she is. I will steer, but she - already - is making her own roads.
Her brain sparks differently - she said, and it is true.
Some don't get that, she said.
Fellow moms are the ultimate comfort ~ and the ones who are ahead of me, golden.
After our conversation I found myself gifted with an evening to myself. So I rolled off the bed, lethargic, feeling a bit broken but hungry for a lift, took a bath.
A bath.
And then I took myself to see Patti Smith.
A fine last move for 2011.
Her chords enveloped me, her words, her presence - nice to end the year with the encouragement of another strong, most remarkable woman.
She was uplifting.
Invigorating.
Guiding.
Loud, soft, modest, endearing, funny, evocative, electric.
Expressive hands, graceful and masculine.
Another friend cheered me via text "BOLD!!".
So grateful for my friends.
I do have courage - though every now and then it idles.
But the choice to go was easy.
And then Patti was my beautiful reward.
Bold times two.
Bold for two.
And ready for our next chapter.
Excited for a new year.
Grateful to be alive.
And to feel that way as well.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Growin' Up.
It dawned on me the other day as Lily,while brushing her teeth in the buff, said to me:
Mama. Go. I need my privacy.
That I am now truly sharing the bathroom with her.
What?!
She's nearing three, not 12.
She rifles through my make-up.
Insists on her outfits.
Comments on mine.
Mama. Stop singing.
Since when am I not cool anymore?
Isn't this supposed to come later?
Thankfully, I am allowed to sing on occasion. I am permitted to sing her to sleep, I am invited to join in on certain songs but typically I am interrupted, her hands dramatically gesturing, commanding -
No. Stop. Stop.
And with that, I am banished to parentland.
But as consumed as she is with growing up, she is still very much my little girl.
And I love her so.
Last night when I returned home (and found her out of bed)her caregiver declared,
She said she wanted to wait for her best friend to come home.
Ahhhh.
Smile.
Yes, it was a ploy, but I'll take it.
This morning, sitting on my lap as I helped her wriggle into her ballet leotard,
We're good friends, Mama.
She is the best.
Mature and childlike in a beautiful, experimental way. She is exploring what it is to be self aware, she speaks of her feelings, she is sensitive.
She pecks me on the lips when she senses she's hurt me.
She is nurturing toward her older man, Jake.
And just the other night, while running and laughing, hand in hand, Jake looked at her and said
We have so much fun together, Lily!
I will never forget that. And I told her she must not either. Girls don't typically hear such effusive and honest declarations from boys.
Or perhaps they do.
Perhaps she will.
Go Lily.
But not too fast.
And last night as she went down to sleep,
I'm not tired Mama.
OK Pumpkin, just take it easy and I think you will fall asleep.
OK, I will just take a lot of easys and then you will come in on your bed and sing to me?
Yes Sweet Pea. I love you. Sweet dreams.
I love you, Mama.
And again, she is my babe.
To quote a friend's mother as she described her now grown child,
She is the daughter every woman wants.
Mama. Go. I need my privacy.
That I am now truly sharing the bathroom with her.
What?!
She's nearing three, not 12.
She rifles through my make-up.
Insists on her outfits.
Comments on mine.
Mama. Stop singing.
Since when am I not cool anymore?
Isn't this supposed to come later?
Thankfully, I am allowed to sing on occasion. I am permitted to sing her to sleep, I am invited to join in on certain songs but typically I am interrupted, her hands dramatically gesturing, commanding -
No. Stop. Stop.
And with that, I am banished to parentland.
But as consumed as she is with growing up, she is still very much my little girl.
And I love her so.
Last night when I returned home (and found her out of bed)her caregiver declared,
She said she wanted to wait for her best friend to come home.
Ahhhh.
Smile.
Yes, it was a ploy, but I'll take it.
This morning, sitting on my lap as I helped her wriggle into her ballet leotard,
We're good friends, Mama.
She is the best.
Mature and childlike in a beautiful, experimental way. She is exploring what it is to be self aware, she speaks of her feelings, she is sensitive.
She pecks me on the lips when she senses she's hurt me.
She is nurturing toward her older man, Jake.
And just the other night, while running and laughing, hand in hand, Jake looked at her and said
We have so much fun together, Lily!
I will never forget that. And I told her she must not either. Girls don't typically hear such effusive and honest declarations from boys.
Or perhaps they do.
Perhaps she will.
Go Lily.
But not too fast.
And last night as she went down to sleep,
I'm not tired Mama.
OK Pumpkin, just take it easy and I think you will fall asleep.
OK, I will just take a lot of easys and then you will come in on your bed and sing to me?
Yes Sweet Pea. I love you. Sweet dreams.
I love you, Mama.
And again, she is my babe.
To quote a friend's mother as she described her now grown child,
She is the daughter every woman wants.
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Winter Blues.
I just took a look at Mt. Tam.
Couldn't help myself.
I woke up with touch of melancholy, feeling out of sorts, tired and yearning for change.
And then I found some pictures of that beautiful mountain and it helped.
A bit.
Its beauty is unparalleled - so much that photos look retouched.
But if you've been there, you know they have not been.
And it made me just want to be above the clouds.
Just for a few minutes, nature in all its glory, undulating hills that breathe with life in utter silence. A blanket of fog resting gently below.
I can't wait to take Lily there, to experience the expanse.
To dance and run along the mountaintop.
If only we could click our heels.
She'd love it. Good air. Dry brush. Smells perfect.
And you really feel above it all.
Nice to get away, even if only in my mind.
Lily was asking about her dad recently and I told her how I like to think of him as being in the nature all around us. That we don't get to see him like other kids see their dads but we can talk about him, look at pictures of him - and feel him in our hearts.
And in the wind and the rain.
We can dream about him! She said.
Yes, we can Pumpkin, we can.
Her "magination" is exploding, she tells me of her dreams, her illustrations are taking shape, her dress up is vibrant, her humor - a riot.
Just the other day after we battled all morning like mother and teen daughter, she followed me into the bathroom,
I want you to be happy, Mama.
I am, Pumpkin, but you need to listen more.
I don't want you to be upset anymore, Mama.
I won't be, Lily, but I'm tired and still a bit upset.
Can you do this, Mama?
I looked down, and there she was smiling at me.
My master manipulator.
(Smile)
Yes I can, Lily.
You happy mama?
She kisses my leg.
Yes Lily, I am.
Most times.
But days like today, I wish we were elsewhere.
Couldn't help myself.
I woke up with touch of melancholy, feeling out of sorts, tired and yearning for change.
And then I found some pictures of that beautiful mountain and it helped.
A bit.
Its beauty is unparalleled - so much that photos look retouched.
But if you've been there, you know they have not been.
And it made me just want to be above the clouds.
Just for a few minutes, nature in all its glory, undulating hills that breathe with life in utter silence. A blanket of fog resting gently below.
I can't wait to take Lily there, to experience the expanse.
To dance and run along the mountaintop.
If only we could click our heels.
She'd love it. Good air. Dry brush. Smells perfect.
And you really feel above it all.
Nice to get away, even if only in my mind.
Lily was asking about her dad recently and I told her how I like to think of him as being in the nature all around us. That we don't get to see him like other kids see their dads but we can talk about him, look at pictures of him - and feel him in our hearts.
And in the wind and the rain.
We can dream about him! She said.
Yes, we can Pumpkin, we can.
Her "magination" is exploding, she tells me of her dreams, her illustrations are taking shape, her dress up is vibrant, her humor - a riot.
Just the other day after we battled all morning like mother and teen daughter, she followed me into the bathroom,
I want you to be happy, Mama.
I am, Pumpkin, but you need to listen more.
I don't want you to be upset anymore, Mama.
I won't be, Lily, but I'm tired and still a bit upset.
Can you do this, Mama?
I looked down, and there she was smiling at me.
My master manipulator.
(Smile)
Yes I can, Lily.
You happy mama?
She kisses my leg.
Yes Lily, I am.
Most times.
But days like today, I wish we were elsewhere.
Monday, November 28, 2011
Hi My Love.
Today, in my heart, you are 48.
So tonight, as we have done for the past three years, the posse is gathering at Firehouse - to celebrate you. We'll have wings, beer.
Laugh and cheer.
Fries and grilled cheese will be added to the menu, for Lily and her friends.
Jake is mildly obsessed with the legacy of his Uncle Alan.
He and Lily are attached at the hip.
Most times.
They love and bicker like old people.
He will be in attendance, possibly with Stella.
Chris' son Jackson will be there, Raina and Gabe, Ruby and Olivia too.
Your favorites.
Black and Whites, of course, will circulate.
But everyday I celebrate you.
We all do.
You are with us always, yes?
I've snapped a few (OK, many) pictures of Lily recently and they're you at that age.
And she occasionally has an x-ray stare that brings you before us.
We went to the Bay Area for Thanksgiving and she brought a pound of pebbles from "The Wave Hill" for Jiji's garden. She played with her West Coast buddies, Madeleine, Henry, Baby Jacob and Simone and Addison.
She had a blast.
She fed, read and sang to the cat.
"He doesn't like Hello Everybody" she reported.
I assured her it couldn't have been her singing.
"When will I grow up Mom?" She asked me recently.
She is intent on becoming "a bigger girl".
Surprisingly, she was weepy to return home.
Usually she is glad to land in NYC, like her dad, most comfortable in her original surroundings. But this time, she had a bit of wanderlust, happy like her mom, to be on another shore, to breath in the fresh air - scented subtly with burning wood.
I had a great dinner with Gillian and Lois (while my mom succumbed to Lily's ultra-creative anti-sleep tactics) and it warmed my heart to be with them. On the way home I got to blast Over the Hills and Far Away followed by Landslide courtesy of the radio.
And I wept for our landslide and smiled and wept that we only got to walk a while but also because I have so much.
Both beautiful reminders of things past and present -
Yes I'm getting older too.
So tonight, as we have done for the past three years, the posse is gathering at Firehouse - to celebrate you. We'll have wings, beer.
Laugh and cheer.
Fries and grilled cheese will be added to the menu, for Lily and her friends.
Jake is mildly obsessed with the legacy of his Uncle Alan.
He and Lily are attached at the hip.
Most times.
They love and bicker like old people.
He will be in attendance, possibly with Stella.
Chris' son Jackson will be there, Raina and Gabe, Ruby and Olivia too.
Your favorites.
Black and Whites, of course, will circulate.
But everyday I celebrate you.
We all do.
You are with us always, yes?
I've snapped a few (OK, many) pictures of Lily recently and they're you at that age.
And she occasionally has an x-ray stare that brings you before us.
We went to the Bay Area for Thanksgiving and she brought a pound of pebbles from "The Wave Hill" for Jiji's garden. She played with her West Coast buddies, Madeleine, Henry, Baby Jacob and Simone and Addison.
She had a blast.
She fed, read and sang to the cat.
"He doesn't like Hello Everybody" she reported.
I assured her it couldn't have been her singing.
"When will I grow up Mom?" She asked me recently.
She is intent on becoming "a bigger girl".
Surprisingly, she was weepy to return home.
Usually she is glad to land in NYC, like her dad, most comfortable in her original surroundings. But this time, she had a bit of wanderlust, happy like her mom, to be on another shore, to breath in the fresh air - scented subtly with burning wood.
I had a great dinner with Gillian and Lois (while my mom succumbed to Lily's ultra-creative anti-sleep tactics) and it warmed my heart to be with them. On the way home I got to blast Over the Hills and Far Away followed by Landslide courtesy of the radio.
And I wept for our landslide and smiled and wept that we only got to walk a while but also because I have so much.
Both beautiful reminders of things past and present -
Yes I'm getting older too.
Monday, October 24, 2011
It all comes back.
Saturday night I went with a good friend to see Gillian Welch at The Beacon and it was a beautiful, serene evening of sweet acoustic guitar and rich, angelic harmonies. A glorious evening to cap a brisk Autumn day. It felt so good to hear live music, adult music, gentle and soulful. I melted into my seat and took it all in. And as my eyes grazed the artfully restored theater I remembered that the last time I had been there was a few years ago. Alan wasn't well, and a friend called me with last minute back stage passes to see some blues rock performers. GO Alan insisted, he was frequently urging me to get out, be social - to divert my attention elsewhere. So I went. Flew twenty blocks South and spent an evening in the wings, being recharged by driving guitars - loud, insistent,encouraging. I felt guilty and invigorated, couldn't believe that I got to enjoy an evening that he couldn't make. The second the show ended I raced home. He was fine, and probably enjoyed the absence of my hovering shadow. Nurse Snoosie he'd call me. I took my role of friend, lover, wife, caregiver oh so seriously. Alan found my Florence Nightingale tendencies amusing.
I loved every time I got a smile or a chuckle out of him.
He helped me laugh at myself too.
Essential.
So this time around I welled up during the first set, marveling, yet again, at what time had delivered. Loss, birth and rebirth. But this time it was Lily who was at home with her beloved Tio and though I felt the guilt of leaving her there (she loves a "music show"), I was able to smile inside, knowing she was just fine - and perhaps she too was relieved to have me out of the house. She had her uncle there to love, direct, and play with. She loves him so.
Alan loved October.
It was his favorite month.
I think it was the seasonal change, the crisp air, the colors.
I like it too.
The trees shed their leaves in preparation for rest.
For reawakening.
I guess that's where I am too right now.
At my mother-in-law's wedding as Lily and her cousin plucked aging leaves from some low and vulnerable branches, her cousin said "Let's let the wind take them! Let's let the wind take them" - a good plan, I reflected.
Some things are best ushered away by the wind.
It'll all come back with Spring, redressed and refreshed.
To be seen in a new light.
I loved every time I got a smile or a chuckle out of him.
He helped me laugh at myself too.
Essential.
So this time around I welled up during the first set, marveling, yet again, at what time had delivered. Loss, birth and rebirth. But this time it was Lily who was at home with her beloved Tio and though I felt the guilt of leaving her there (she loves a "music show"), I was able to smile inside, knowing she was just fine - and perhaps she too was relieved to have me out of the house. She had her uncle there to love, direct, and play with. She loves him so.
Alan loved October.
It was his favorite month.
I think it was the seasonal change, the crisp air, the colors.
I like it too.
The trees shed their leaves in preparation for rest.
For reawakening.
I guess that's where I am too right now.
At my mother-in-law's wedding as Lily and her cousin plucked aging leaves from some low and vulnerable branches, her cousin said "Let's let the wind take them! Let's let the wind take them" - a good plan, I reflected.
Some things are best ushered away by the wind.
It'll all come back with Spring, redressed and refreshed.
To be seen in a new light.
Monday, October 17, 2011
A Wedding (and a funeral)
Lily went to her first wedding this weekend, for her beloved Granny.
It was a beautiful, blustery, grey to sunny day.
A child of the new millennium, she witnessed a commemoration only recently legal.
She looked forward to it for weeks, walked flittingly down the garden path, flower basket in the crook of her arm, was all smiles for her family and friends, and was in Puck-like motion throughout the entire ceremony.
She did finally sit.
At the end of the ceremony - that is, after the glass was crushed, as everyone clapped and stood and proceeded to the grass, Lily perched on the edge of her chair.
Still exhausting, my girl.
Forever in motion.
And I missed much of it.
As a consolation, I told myself that if Alan had been there, since it was his mother, I would have offered to do the chasing anyway. But I would have also told him - this is why I wanted to bring a sitter.
Ah me. Still two hands and one heart short.
To think he missed such an important, love filled and monumental occasion.
And his grandfather just passed as well.
At 102.
Where did those genes go?
Alan should have been here.
For both.
Instead, I imagine him up above, in the air somewhere - greeting his Pop, with his dad and Gram at his side.
What a surprise he must have been.
For all of them.
Surely they all sat together and watched approvingly from above.
In that "otherworld" where I envision them all to be, I always imagine their spirits can only feel great happiness and joy. Sadness and disappointment are felt but not to any great depth - they are fleetingly felt and then shed; a brief grey wash and then the warmer colors take over. Pain is no longer a burden, they only see the positive side of things. It helps me to temper my own sadness, to keep a level perspective.
Must have been the palette on Saturday.
Whitewash giving way to golden glow.
It was a beautiful, blustery, grey to sunny day.
A child of the new millennium, she witnessed a commemoration only recently legal.
She looked forward to it for weeks, walked flittingly down the garden path, flower basket in the crook of her arm, was all smiles for her family and friends, and was in Puck-like motion throughout the entire ceremony.
She did finally sit.
At the end of the ceremony - that is, after the glass was crushed, as everyone clapped and stood and proceeded to the grass, Lily perched on the edge of her chair.
Still exhausting, my girl.
Forever in motion.
And I missed much of it.
As a consolation, I told myself that if Alan had been there, since it was his mother, I would have offered to do the chasing anyway. But I would have also told him - this is why I wanted to bring a sitter.
Ah me. Still two hands and one heart short.
To think he missed such an important, love filled and monumental occasion.
And his grandfather just passed as well.
At 102.
Where did those genes go?
Alan should have been here.
For both.
Instead, I imagine him up above, in the air somewhere - greeting his Pop, with his dad and Gram at his side.
What a surprise he must have been.
For all of them.
Surely they all sat together and watched approvingly from above.
In that "otherworld" where I envision them all to be, I always imagine their spirits can only feel great happiness and joy. Sadness and disappointment are felt but not to any great depth - they are fleetingly felt and then shed; a brief grey wash and then the warmer colors take over. Pain is no longer a burden, they only see the positive side of things. It helps me to temper my own sadness, to keep a level perspective.
Must have been the palette on Saturday.
Whitewash giving way to golden glow.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
There She Goes.
For some time Lily has been saying
"I'm going to school in September."
And after a fun school picnic a week ago, staged outside a beautiful and imposing church, she's now been inside.
There was much anticipation, discussion, a bit of apprehension and outfit changing. She refused hair clips and ponytails, in favor of her let-it-flow shag, finally paired a shirt with leggings, insisted on bringing a purse, a ladybug backpack with additional purses, a few music shakers and other important items inside.
They all remained in her cubby.
She spent the morning in somewhat of a quiet, observational mode.
Just like her dad, taking it all in.
But some of her energetic spark broke through - she cooked in the kitchen, took care of six babies, washed her hands three times at the perfect height sink, found and hoarded scarves and shakers, did a few puzzles. I was able to step outside the room a couple of times, to minimal protest, and when class finished she rushed to the door, poked her head out and excitedly told me "Mama! School's over!". She made it through a transitional hour just fine, and even exclaimed "that was fun!". She later recounted to her Granny that her favorite part of the morning was snack.
Just like her mama, Alan would surely have joked.
Big day.
For us both.
Moving forward separately, together.
She has an insatiable curiosity and days are loaded with questions, which are getting harder to answer. I'm hoping her teachers will help me out.
Why did Humpty Dumpty fall? Why couldn't they put him back together?
Did his body break? (Loaded? Or straight-forward question?)
Why was the baby/cradle in the tree?
Who put it there? (Irresponsible lyrics.)
And as of last night, Why is Bonnie in the Ocean?
How does one explain to a two and a half year old that Bonnie means pretty, should really be paired with Lass which is another name for a girl and that she lies over the ocean, not in it, which means she's really on the other side of it, and that the sea is kind of like an ocean?
Please, Raved-About-Lauded-WidelyPraised-Wonderful-School,
help
me
out.
"I'm going to school in September."
And after a fun school picnic a week ago, staged outside a beautiful and imposing church, she's now been inside.
There was much anticipation, discussion, a bit of apprehension and outfit changing. She refused hair clips and ponytails, in favor of her let-it-flow shag, finally paired a shirt with leggings, insisted on bringing a purse, a ladybug backpack with additional purses, a few music shakers and other important items inside.
They all remained in her cubby.
She spent the morning in somewhat of a quiet, observational mode.
Just like her dad, taking it all in.
But some of her energetic spark broke through - she cooked in the kitchen, took care of six babies, washed her hands three times at the perfect height sink, found and hoarded scarves and shakers, did a few puzzles. I was able to step outside the room a couple of times, to minimal protest, and when class finished she rushed to the door, poked her head out and excitedly told me "Mama! School's over!". She made it through a transitional hour just fine, and even exclaimed "that was fun!". She later recounted to her Granny that her favorite part of the morning was snack.
Just like her mama, Alan would surely have joked.
Big day.
For us both.
Moving forward separately, together.
She has an insatiable curiosity and days are loaded with questions, which are getting harder to answer. I'm hoping her teachers will help me out.
Why did Humpty Dumpty fall? Why couldn't they put him back together?
Did his body break? (Loaded? Or straight-forward question?)
Why was the baby/cradle in the tree?
Who put it there? (Irresponsible lyrics.)
And as of last night, Why is Bonnie in the Ocean?
How does one explain to a two and a half year old that Bonnie means pretty, should really be paired with Lass which is another name for a girl and that she lies over the ocean, not in it, which means she's really on the other side of it, and that the sea is kind of like an ocean?
Please, Raved-About-Lauded-WidelyPraised-Wonderful-School,
help
me
out.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Addendum to yesterday.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Forever Remembered.
It is hard to believe that this day, ten years ago, loss happened over and over and over again. I did little in commemoration today, but I can't say it takes a day like this to remember and honor every life that was so senselessly taken. I doubt anyone that lived in this city or it's boroughs will ever forget the all consuming grief, shock and despair. The spontaneous comraderie and the feeling of helplessness. It all resonates with me. I have wondered how all of the children, unborn at the time, are faring - having lost a beloved parent they never met. It's my greatest point of reference, a tragic source of kids who are living and learning about the parent they never knew.
Eight years ahead of Lily.
I think they must be shining.
And they must know that they carry beautiful spirits within them.
I remember during one of Alan's hospital stays, he had a roommate that was either a policeman or a firefighter and we were fairly confident from visitors and overheard conversations he had been a 9/11 responder. He was married with kids and he'd be angry if his wife was home with them or working. There was a moment when he really needed something and I went to the other side of the curtain to help. When his wife showed up he was angry, vulnerable and scared.
You just lost your man, he said.
I'll never forget it.
Nor will she.
But what do you do when you're financially tapped and you're torn between watching over your kids or your husband? She was tormented and I could hear the desperation in both of their voices. I prayed that wouldn't be us. And to hear tonight that still, cancer patients that were there, working amid such toxic dust are not yet compensated for their treatment disgusts me. The selflessness of everyone that put their lives on the line and are now, consequently losing their own, was remarkable. Healthcare coverage in this country, or lack thereof, is discriminating enough and the torment of wondering if you can afford to try to save a life as you struggle to save it is torture enough. So to see this country we live in, deny its greatest heros of well earned assistance, is ... is... shameful.
They deserve more than thanks.
Lily and I visited a fire station and I'm sure many firefighters today have survivor guilt.
Not fun.
But they were quietly kind, inviting and gracious and it was sweet to hear my girl, prompted, say
Thank you for helping to keep us safe.
Too early for a lesson about 9/11 but never too young to understand the kindness and generosity of New York's Finest.
Yesterday, flitting in the sprinklers with her closest buddy, he asked her where her daddy was. Without skipping a beat, wiping water from her face she said, "He died".
They went on playing.
She is learning to cope, and comprehending in her own way what she can. When I saw some of the 9/11 in utero babes (now pre-teens) today, standing courageously and proudly next to their surviving parent - honoring those who cannot be with them, I felt sure that Lily will be OK.
There will be a life long void. But she has Alan's strength, our combined resilience,a thoughtful soul, and role models in these surviving kids.
I hope from them she will draw strength and inspiration.
Eight years ahead of Lily.
I think they must be shining.
And they must know that they carry beautiful spirits within them.
I remember during one of Alan's hospital stays, he had a roommate that was either a policeman or a firefighter and we were fairly confident from visitors and overheard conversations he had been a 9/11 responder. He was married with kids and he'd be angry if his wife was home with them or working. There was a moment when he really needed something and I went to the other side of the curtain to help. When his wife showed up he was angry, vulnerable and scared.
You just lost your man, he said.
I'll never forget it.
Nor will she.
But what do you do when you're financially tapped and you're torn between watching over your kids or your husband? She was tormented and I could hear the desperation in both of their voices. I prayed that wouldn't be us. And to hear tonight that still, cancer patients that were there, working amid such toxic dust are not yet compensated for their treatment disgusts me. The selflessness of everyone that put their lives on the line and are now, consequently losing their own, was remarkable. Healthcare coverage in this country, or lack thereof, is discriminating enough and the torment of wondering if you can afford to try to save a life as you struggle to save it is torture enough. So to see this country we live in, deny its greatest heros of well earned assistance, is ... is... shameful.
They deserve more than thanks.
Lily and I visited a fire station and I'm sure many firefighters today have survivor guilt.
Not fun.
But they were quietly kind, inviting and gracious and it was sweet to hear my girl, prompted, say
Thank you for helping to keep us safe.
Too early for a lesson about 9/11 but never too young to understand the kindness and generosity of New York's Finest.
Yesterday, flitting in the sprinklers with her closest buddy, he asked her where her daddy was. Without skipping a beat, wiping water from her face she said, "He died".
They went on playing.
She is learning to cope, and comprehending in her own way what she can. When I saw some of the 9/11 in utero babes (now pre-teens) today, standing courageously and proudly next to their surviving parent - honoring those who cannot be with them, I felt sure that Lily will be OK.
There will be a life long void. But she has Alan's strength, our combined resilience,a thoughtful soul, and role models in these surviving kids.
I hope from them she will draw strength and inspiration.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
September
Today is our anniversary.
Four years. (Would have been.)
But we never made it to one.
Together that is.
Sigh.
Still miss him and love him like crazy, and it's hard to believe so much has happened since then.
I had our girl.
And she's growing up.
It is easier to measure my life, post Alan, in Lily minutes - because it is mostly she who has kept me afloat and helped me to find my sea legs in the past two and a half years.
But I am here, and grateful for it.
This time four years ago we were on the eve of newly wedded bliss.
We got a taste of it. Buzzing on a moped in the Aeolian islands, on ocean roads in Sicily, wandering the streets of Florence. But even at the end of our honeymoon, Alan's hand often rested on his chest. I can forever see him posed that way. His ribs were hurting, we knew something was up. We had coasted since a major surgery in July, so, I guess, we were due for a reality check.
Got it.
Still wildly happy in love, and achingly saddened by what hung in the balance.
New tumors, cracked ribs.
Italy at least still lingered, fresh in our minds.
And the love and excitement that floated us through an amazing, family and friend filled celebration, had left our hearts near bursting with happiness and the kind of joy that always feels good to remember.
It still is hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that Lily is aware of none of it/this. She knows her dad and will continue to do so through me and her extended family. I just wish she could have a moment with Alan. To experience his humor, to climb into his lap, sit on his shoulders, taste his Bananas Foster.
Mmmmmmmm... Yummyyyy!! She'd say. That's GOOD. She'd exclaim.
I love hearing her satisfaction.
September now marks the eve of pre-school.
Lily is ready.
Dressing herself with regular wardrobe changes, testing the boundaries, challenging my decisions, picking my outfits, riding her tricycle and scooter with ease, doing everything herself.
And she continues to fill the air with song.
I used to love hearing Alan hum. It filled me with happiness to hear him momentarily unfettered by dark thoughts.
And now Lily buzzes around gleefully (most of the time) and I savor the repeat performances.
Recently while we were playing together, with her back to me, she said -
You happy mama?
Yes Pumpkin I am.
Why?
Because you're here and you make me soooo happy. Are you happy Lily?
Yes, she says quietly, focused on her beads.
May
she
always
be.
Four years. (Would have been.)
But we never made it to one.
Together that is.
Sigh.
Still miss him and love him like crazy, and it's hard to believe so much has happened since then.
I had our girl.
And she's growing up.
It is easier to measure my life, post Alan, in Lily minutes - because it is mostly she who has kept me afloat and helped me to find my sea legs in the past two and a half years.
But I am here, and grateful for it.
This time four years ago we were on the eve of newly wedded bliss.
We got a taste of it. Buzzing on a moped in the Aeolian islands, on ocean roads in Sicily, wandering the streets of Florence. But even at the end of our honeymoon, Alan's hand often rested on his chest. I can forever see him posed that way. His ribs were hurting, we knew something was up. We had coasted since a major surgery in July, so, I guess, we were due for a reality check.
Got it.
Still wildly happy in love, and achingly saddened by what hung in the balance.
New tumors, cracked ribs.
Italy at least still lingered, fresh in our minds.
And the love and excitement that floated us through an amazing, family and friend filled celebration, had left our hearts near bursting with happiness and the kind of joy that always feels good to remember.
It still is hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that Lily is aware of none of it/this. She knows her dad and will continue to do so through me and her extended family. I just wish she could have a moment with Alan. To experience his humor, to climb into his lap, sit on his shoulders, taste his Bananas Foster.
Mmmmmmmm... Yummyyyy!! She'd say. That's GOOD. She'd exclaim.
I love hearing her satisfaction.
September now marks the eve of pre-school.
Lily is ready.
Dressing herself with regular wardrobe changes, testing the boundaries, challenging my decisions, picking my outfits, riding her tricycle and scooter with ease, doing everything herself.
And she continues to fill the air with song.
I used to love hearing Alan hum. It filled me with happiness to hear him momentarily unfettered by dark thoughts.
And now Lily buzzes around gleefully (most of the time) and I savor the repeat performances.
Recently while we were playing together, with her back to me, she said -
You happy mama?
Yes Pumpkin I am.
Why?
Because you're here and you make me soooo happy. Are you happy Lily?
Yes, she says quietly, focused on her beads.
May
she
always
be.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Comes With Age. (I guess?)
Two and a half this month and although Lily has always been a particularly independent child, she has become even more so. Tantrums fill the air after Cybil style comments like this:
I want them
I don't want them
No I want THEM!!!
No I don't want them
Mama I waaaaaaannnnnnttt them
NO I don't want them.
OK. Whew. Cold pancakes now going in garbage after sitting untouched for an hour, igniting tantrum #1 for the day at 9:15am.
Exhausting. I think this is about being 2.5? Control of ones actions and the need to assert oneself? I will hope that this ends in six months if not sooner. But it ominously reeks of adolescence and I'm definitely not accepting that it's beginning now.
No thanks.
Oh. And does taking a little chair over to the front door and undoing two Medeco locks and letting oneself out into the hall fall under the same assert-my-independence category?
Not.... cool.
I also clearly recollect my mom laying out my outfits the night before school. Can still see the the plaid dress with white turtleneck there on the rocker, its outline bathed in moonlight. But Lily, not yet in school now picks out her own outfits most days. And I am not to help her.
Mama.
Go in da other room.
OK Pumpkin, just call me if you'd like some help.
OK. She says definitively, with distracted excitement, focused determination.
GO.
She's pretty good. Color matching a bit off, things sometimes inside out, but generally, maybe I should regard this as myteen toddler making mornings easier? Lies them out on the floor first, after multiple selections are reviewed and makes her selection.
Perhaps Alan is trying to assist from above. To lighten the load? Maybe that's why she briefly went for the heavy knit Yankee sweater this morning with the outside air already in the mid to high 70s... We were successful in diverting her attention and she then came out with a perfect, slightly large, woven hand-me-down shift dress (for a four year old, but we're looking ahead, right?)and she donned it skillfully with only distanced supervision from her Granny who subtly assisted with a mis-routed arm.
The dressing I can take, the front door exits and tantrums I can do without.
But maybe those are next on Alan's list.
I want them
I don't want them
No I want THEM!!!
No I don't want them
Mama I waaaaaaannnnnnttt them
NO I don't want them.
OK. Whew. Cold pancakes now going in garbage after sitting untouched for an hour, igniting tantrum #1 for the day at 9:15am.
Exhausting. I think this is about being 2.5? Control of ones actions and the need to assert oneself? I will hope that this ends in six months if not sooner. But it ominously reeks of adolescence and I'm definitely not accepting that it's beginning now.
No thanks.
Oh. And does taking a little chair over to the front door and undoing two Medeco locks and letting oneself out into the hall fall under the same assert-my-independence category?
Not.... cool.
I also clearly recollect my mom laying out my outfits the night before school. Can still see the the plaid dress with white turtleneck there on the rocker, its outline bathed in moonlight. But Lily, not yet in school now picks out her own outfits most days. And I am not to help her.
Mama.
Go in da other room.
OK Pumpkin, just call me if you'd like some help.
OK. She says definitively, with distracted excitement, focused determination.
GO.
She's pretty good. Color matching a bit off, things sometimes inside out, but generally, maybe I should regard this as my
Perhaps Alan is trying to assist from above. To lighten the load? Maybe that's why she briefly went for the heavy knit Yankee sweater this morning with the outside air already in the mid to high 70s... We were successful in diverting her attention and she then came out with a perfect, slightly large, woven hand-me-down shift dress (for a four year old, but we're looking ahead, right?)and she donned it skillfully with only distanced supervision from her Granny who subtly assisted with a mis-routed arm.
The dressing I can take, the front door exits and tantrums I can do without.
But maybe those are next on Alan's list.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
City Mouse/Country Mouse.
We got out of town.
Lily, James (invisible friend) and I.
The plane ride to Ca. is a long one, and Lily, as only Lily seems to be able to do, remained amped and awake the entire flight until the pilot announced the descent. Then she crashed hard, as though sleeping potion induced, to my relieved but frustrated consternation at this travel pattern she has mastered.
5.5 hours.
My mother and mother-in-law have now witnessed this "flying style" first hand.
They think it's amusing.
But touch down had me elated and Northern Ca. immediately restores my spirit.
Was sooo nice.
Too quick, ever busy, but we got some fresh air.
More hand-me-downs.
And love.
From cousins and grandparents and aunties and a loving uncle and friends. Her NY Granny and BebeO came with us for part of the time so Lily got to show them around her garden, and we were able to share with them some Left Coast Family Hang Time. Was very, very nice. Lily, very much like her Grandpa, enjoys having the entire family together. So she was ecstatic to have so many friends and family join us for a kick-off dinner.
We also relished in lots of outdoor quiet.
So nice to relax under the stillness of the sun, warm rays, no noise but distant leaf blowers or rustling leaves. The sounds of birds taking flight from their perches. Barking dogs. Pool sweep random spouts of water.
Ahhh, suburbs....
We breakfasted outside and Lily unintentionally shared her waffle with a Blue-Jay.
It was a bit unsettling for her but we thought maybe it was a Mama Bird who flew off to her nest to share with her family so then Lily didn't feel so violated.
She was finished anyway. She-who-has-entered-a-hopefully-short-term-era-of-tantrums is protective of her belongings, even if not using them - but she took the waffle abduction in stride, and busied herself with watering the patio and it's plants instead.
We also had sleepovers with her cousins and that was the icing on the cake. We drove with her Uncle Dave (Unca Dave!! Unca Dave!!) to pick them up at camp - so Lily toured their classrooms and delighted in their playgrounds. Pre-school begins next month so it was a taste of the New World for her to see a school up close. Addison and Simone scaled structures and swung from monkey bars while Lily scrambled up and down curly slides, lounged on "the moon" (a tunnel), washed her hands and opened/closed doors in multiple playhouses.
She trailed them with excitement and awe.
We also ventured to Santa Cruz for some beach and rides and fries, and perhaps the best part, for me, was turning around in the front see to see them all asleep in their car seats. Family frozen in rest mode, as we curved past redwoods, and cruised alongside dry, brown, rolling hills crowned with stately oaks.
Beautiful in so many ways.
When we returned to NYC, Lily greeted the closets and crib and made sure our apartment was in order. Like her dad, she doesn't like to be far from home for too long.
Trying to balance a California/New York state of mind.
Will channel husband and daughter.
Lily, James (invisible friend) and I.
The plane ride to Ca. is a long one, and Lily, as only Lily seems to be able to do, remained amped and awake the entire flight until the pilot announced the descent. Then she crashed hard, as though sleeping potion induced, to my relieved but frustrated consternation at this travel pattern she has mastered.
5.5 hours.
My mother and mother-in-law have now witnessed this "flying style" first hand.
They think it's amusing.
But touch down had me elated and Northern Ca. immediately restores my spirit.
Was sooo nice.
Too quick, ever busy, but we got some fresh air.
More hand-me-downs.
And love.
From cousins and grandparents and aunties and a loving uncle and friends. Her NY Granny and BebeO came with us for part of the time so Lily got to show them around her garden, and we were able to share with them some Left Coast Family Hang Time. Was very, very nice. Lily, very much like her Grandpa, enjoys having the entire family together. So she was ecstatic to have so many friends and family join us for a kick-off dinner.
We also relished in lots of outdoor quiet.
So nice to relax under the stillness of the sun, warm rays, no noise but distant leaf blowers or rustling leaves. The sounds of birds taking flight from their perches. Barking dogs. Pool sweep random spouts of water.
Ahhh, suburbs....
We breakfasted outside and Lily unintentionally shared her waffle with a Blue-Jay.
It was a bit unsettling for her but we thought maybe it was a Mama Bird who flew off to her nest to share with her family so then Lily didn't feel so violated.
She was finished anyway. She-who-has-entered-a-hopefully-short-term-era-of-tantrums is protective of her belongings, even if not using them - but she took the waffle abduction in stride, and busied herself with watering the patio and it's plants instead.
We also had sleepovers with her cousins and that was the icing on the cake. We drove with her Uncle Dave (Unca Dave!! Unca Dave!!) to pick them up at camp - so Lily toured their classrooms and delighted in their playgrounds. Pre-school begins next month so it was a taste of the New World for her to see a school up close. Addison and Simone scaled structures and swung from monkey bars while Lily scrambled up and down curly slides, lounged on "the moon" (a tunnel), washed her hands and opened/closed doors in multiple playhouses.
She trailed them with excitement and awe.
We also ventured to Santa Cruz for some beach and rides and fries, and perhaps the best part, for me, was turning around in the front see to see them all asleep in their car seats. Family frozen in rest mode, as we curved past redwoods, and cruised alongside dry, brown, rolling hills crowned with stately oaks.
Beautiful in so many ways.
When we returned to NYC, Lily greeted the closets and crib and made sure our apartment was in order. Like her dad, she doesn't like to be far from home for too long.
Trying to balance a California/New York state of mind.
Will channel husband and daughter.
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